It's funny how when we're upset we ask to be alone, but is it because we want to be alone or is it because we don't want to be around specific people? Because no matter what they've ever been through I think I'd rather be alone than have them decide the level of seriousness they think this particular episode of sadness is and act accordingly. It's like they use a chart or a 1-10 scale and I don't think I've ever felt like more of a science project, except I don't win anybody anything. Sometimes I like to think that I'm strong because I'm good at pretending to either save face or save someone else being sad or worrying or even to be out of a compromising situation where I feel uncomfortable. Occasionally, I break. But for the most part I try to stay strong, and not in a way that displays or illustrates mental strength but rather a weaker kind of strength, the one that is accumulated through lying about feeling calmer or happier or mentally stable.
As I've finally experienced one I can now say I find mental health institutions to be so sterile and scary and uncomfortable and viciously unlike home but when I am home it feels eerily uncomfortable also, like I'm somehow bound to one place and feeling completely incapacitated to leave, and it grows, this feeling, that I feel like I shouldn't leave the lounge room with my family. Even though I can't put up with the conversation about why I feel that I just don't want to talk or even do anything, I again find myself watching the television and see right through it and be staring blankly. It's getting worse over time and it's strange because I'm told it should be getting better.
I feel myself slowly feeling less and less attached to people close to me and finding it harder to do things expected of a normal relationship or friendship or familial type bond, and I'm slowly questioning myself wondering if it's normal to begin to feel like the feelings I have for everyone I love are slowly fading away, like I can't pinpoint where the sadness ends and where the love for others begins and instead it's sucking not only the little liveliness I have inside of me but also the feelings I have for the people I'm supposed to love and care for. Am I supposed to be frightened? I find that a lot of my previous friendships and relationships and everything I might've ruined with my own feelings of detachment were just small episodes of a larger thing to come. I wonder if I'll wake up one day and feel nothing for anybody I once did.
I have people telling me that I've got things to look forward to and that I'm so much more than I give myself credit for but what happens when I can't tell the difference between an extension of the truth to encourage self worth and the actual truth? What happens when things like that no longer stop me from thinking the way I do, and no longer stop that miserable ball of worthlessness rolling around in my head and stewing upon whether I want to keep believing the things I'm told that keep me from completely giving up?
There's a little voice inside of me that tells me that I'm not the only one experiencing things like this and that other people are too going through the same things and that it could be normal but hidden just as well as I do, so as not to upset those who are trying to make me feel better. I know it's normal to sometimes feel zero feelings of self-worth and absolute hopelessness. But if I'm withdrawing from humans in general physically and slowly and subconsciously moving away from everyone emotionally, when is the line drawn from feelings of teenage hormonal insecurities to actual incapacitating sadness that could grant such an act as suicide? Because I guess I just feel like I'm being told one and the other by several different people and there's nothing more incapacitating than not being able to decipher your own feelings.